Tales of Thieves
by Ickle-Ronnikens
Summary: Just an alternative way in which I came up with for the story Hugo. Story is canon and reasonably short chapters for now. Read Review plz!
1. Chapter 1

**Tales of Thieves**

**Rating:** K

**Pairing:** Hugo/Isabelle

**Summary- **A short story that relates to the movie Hugo and that covers events in the movie in alternate methods and order.

Chapter One

It was almost evening in Paris, the hustle and bustle of the business day was coming to a close, people were closing their shops for the day, workers were packing up to go home, and the afternoon sun went a cool orange with the clouds surrounded. At the inner central train station, workers were busy boarding their train's home, and the little shops at the station were at their last stand of business for the day. A young boy by the name of Hugo Cabret sat hidden in the walls of the building, staring out into the abyss of flapping cloaks and glistening briefcases.

Hugo was an Orphan, his mother he did not remember but his father had been a master clock maker and was burned alive whilst working at the Museum. His drunken sod of an Uncle Claude had therefore been his only living relative, and upon bringing him to this train station he had since gone a-wall, leaving the responsibility of fixing the large clocks and keep them running on time to Hugo, a burden he did not want and had taken it on begrudgingly.

The only thing that he has left that connects him to his father is an automaton that doesn't work, and requires a heart-shape key, something he had never even seen before. Even his father had been perplexed upon the keyhole, but had died before he had had the chance of really researching it. Hugo had convinced himself that his purpose in life was to now find that heart-shape key, something he doubted he would be able to do from inside the walls of a train station.

He watched from his hiding spot the thousands of people going past him and envied them, they went on an adventure every day – albeit to and from work, but many times he had envisioned himself boarding one of the many trains to leave the platforms of the large station and not look back. Each time he had tried he had had cold feet, and more or less ended up being chased up and down the many platforms by the man that had made it his job to one day catch Hugo, the station inspector.

Eventually the clutter of people died away, and shop owners in the station began closing for the day, and Hugo switched his attention to the far side of the station, where a young girl about his age sat alone on a bench with a notepad and pen and was scribbling. She wore a light brown trench coat, underneath that she had a striped jumper and knee-high skirt – whilst most distinctively she wore a dark blue beret atop her short curly blonde hair.

Hugo thought she was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen, and as she scribbled she had a great big smile on her face that made a Hugo smile too. He had felt very lonely since his father's passing, his only friend had been the automaton to which he had talked too as if it was real and ever since he had spotted this girl for the first time, he wished he was her friend. Though, as he watched her, he felt he knew her, for every day at the same time for the past several weeks he had waited precisely in this position, waiting for the crowd to thin, knowing she would be sitting there waiting for someone, like he was waiting for her.

All he knew of this girl besides her wonderful smile was her name, Isabelle. Her father – at least Hugo presumed it was her father – worked at the train stations toy store, a place where Hugo had spent pinching a lot of the mechanical gears and bolts in an attempt to fix the automaton. This complicated matters, for he knew Isabelle would never be associated with him, she would never talk with him – not with a thief, a reprobate.

Still though he watched her as she screwed her face in concentration, clearly working on something much more complicated than an ordinary scribble. Hugo wished he could see what she was scribbling, or indeed writing – despite his shyness, it would be the perfect way to say hello, simply asking what it was she was doing. Just as that thought occurred to him Isabelle cried out angrily and scrunched up the page she had been writing on and threw it into the rubbish bin nearby.

As she was just about to begin writing again, the old man that worked at the toy store suddenly approached and called her name softly, causing Isabelle to look up.

'Papa George,' she said, smiling and closing her book so she could get to her feet, 'is it time to go?'

'Yes my dear,' George said.

They linked arms and turned and headed for the exit, Hugo watched them the whole way, even well after they had gone. His eyes turned to the rubbish bin in which contained the scrunched up page, and instantly Hugo was curious. He waited patiently as the station inspector and his dog did a circle of the area before disappearing to his office the other side of the building. Hugo pounced from his hiding position and quickly found the scrunched up page Isabelle had chucked.

Hugo looked around the deserted building to ensure he was alone before unfolding the crumpled paper and getting the shock of his life.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Hugo paced his quarters that night; the small room that lay within the stations walls consisted of very little, but the necessities were there. He had a bunk to sleep on, a workbench to work on and a chair for his beloved automaton to sit on. The usual tools, cogs and bits and pieces that lived on his bench had been swept unceremoniously from the tabletop to the floor, making way for the crumbled up piece of paper Hugo had managed to salvage from the rubbish after Isabelle had tossed it.

The creases had attempted to be flattened out with very little success; Hugo however had focused on the more important matter of the subject which had been drawn on the paper. And what a quite important matter it was. How could it be possible that Isabelle – a girl perhaps no older than Hugo himself – would draw a near on replica love-heart shaped key that his father had foreseen as something very rare? Sure Hugo assumed the drawing of a love-heart may be drawn by hundreds and thousands of people a day, but for it to be in the shape of a key was very one in a million.

Hugo had only ever seen one such shape drawn in his entire lifetime, and it sat right there in his quarters, hidden comfortably in his left pocket. He placed his hand on the small mound and patted it – the notebook had been his fathers, and all the drawings of the automatons' complicated structure were in there, including the most obscure one, the most mysterious puzzle the mechanical figure had given them.

Up until now it had been nothing short of exactly that – a mystery, a puzzle to boggle the mind – nobody but he and his father knew of such a keyhole shape to be in existence and Hugo was as sure as that as he was sure that the station Inspector fancied Madame Lisette, the flower lady.

Hugo moved around the automaton to the back and kneeled, his fingers ran over the heart-shaped keyhole, as if suddenly he expected an answer to reveal their presence to him. It was such an unusual shape; he supposed that the whole thing COULD be a coincidence, a misconception, a sign of his mind playing tricks. It was only today that he had been thinking of partaking on an adventure, or a journey to find what he so very much desired. Perhaps he was dreaming, perhaps he was just hoping this was the adventure he wanted to have.

The fact that this girl he had admired since he had laid his eyes on her (albeit from afar) was connected to one of the most important objects in his life just felt a little far-fetched.

Even now, as he turned his attention back to the drawing on his workbench, it did look a little bit different to that of his father's visions. The width of the heart-shape was far too thin, and the key handle was longer and fatter. Hugo scooped up the picture, folded it in half and placed it with his father's notebook under the mattress.

It was getting late – for now he would leave it.

Hugo had been pondering for a while now, his pocket-watch read almost midnight, and he was meant to be up by five in the morning to wind all the clocks in the station which takes quite a while. Also, if the clocks run behind, the station Inspector begins to ask questions, something Hugo cannot afford to do with his Uncle gone a-wall. If he was caught without a parent or guardian, is was probably straight off to the Orphanage for him.

For now, he would dream about clocks, heart-shaped keyholes, berets and curly hair and mull over his thoughts in the morning.

The strong smell of freshly made bread, grinded coffee beans, hot off the press newspapers and blossoming flowers filled the halls and walkways of the station the next morning. Hugo was feeling very hungry and very envious as he worked, wounding the smallest clock in the south east wing he tried to ignore the constant rumble of his stomach begging for food. If it weren't for the station Inspector sweeping around every corner and checking each nook and cranny in the place, Hugo would have gone and pinched a croissant for breakfast by now.

Wiping the sweat from his brow, Hugo left the south east wing and headed along a narrow and steamy hallway, he then turned right onto a steep railing that took him to a small room where finally he climbed a ladder and came to the next clock. He always hated winding this particular clock and for quite a good number of reasons.

Firstly, he had to make sure that this clock beyond all others ran perfectly, smoothly and faultlessly, for it was the clock in which sat in the stations Inspector's room and therefore the basis of all the other clocks in the station. Besides having to be extra careful while he worked in order not to be found out, the lever was almost always rigid and hard to move, no matter how much oil or grease Hugo put on it, making life extra difficult for him.

Once Hugo was finished winding the clock the necessary amount, he gave the office a quick glance before moving on. His thoughts turned to the events of last night and to Isabelle; he wanted so very much to know where she'd seen the heart-shaped key so that he could venture to retrieve it and uncover the secret or the automaton that he so desperately wanted answered. His only quam was the fact that such an elegant young girl like Isabelle would most likely dispute having any sort of conversation with such a boy, especially one with the reputation as a pillaging thief.

Her grandfather at the toy store more than likely had told her all about the thief stealing his stock by now.

Finally he reached the large clock tower atop the train station and from his least favourite room in the station to his most favourite Hugo could not help but yet again appreciate the view in front of him. He could see all the way across the city towards the Eiffel Tower, standing like a giant amongst the surrounding buildings, it illuminated beautifully against the colours made from the morning sun.

He took his time in this room winding the clock, despite being very hungry. He sat for quite a long while, attempting to create something in his mind that might just make Isabelle talk to him longer than the ten seconds she would need to call him a low-life thief before walking away. The sun rose quite a-ways into the sky in the time he sat there staring at the large structure in the distance – it was almost like he was expecting something magical to come to him, just because he was looking at something magical.

Was that not how Jules Vern came up with the ideas for his adventures?

Finally admitting that he would not be able to think up the right words on an empty stomach, Hugo climbed down and returned to reality and the busy station. Busy was perfect, Hugo thought, he preferred it to be busy, the more people there were the less likely it was for anyone to pay attention to him. So after scanning the area for any sign of the station Inspector or his dog, Hugo emerged from the shadows in a calm and collected manner.

The rest was like clockwork; he casually stepped into the busy flow of traffic and simply let himself be swept by the crowd past the baker's shop and café, where he managed to pinch a croissant and a bottle of milk respectively. Not a single soul in the entire station gave the slightest bit of a double-take, nor insinuate they noticed anything, and as Hugo emerged from the flowing sea of people – his jacket bulging – he really did believe that yet again he had managed to fool everyone.

That was, however, until he had taken one solitary step towards the hole in the wall leading to his covert lair and heard the loud definitive sound of somebody clearing their throat loudly. Hugo's heart sank; stopping dead in his tracks, Hugo suddenly panicked and he felt all the smugness he had had moments ago drain away to nothing.

There was no two-ways about it: the station Inspector had caught him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Hey guys. Apologies for the lateness of my returning, I have struggled for months to write this chapter and I'm finally happy with it (even though I might not be when I wake up). Won't take up any more of your time, thought I should just let you know that I'm back to writing this and more will be coming soon. Enjoy!**

Chapter Three

'_You see this?'_

_Hugo and his father were in the back of the shop, working as always ever vigorously on the Automaton found abandoned in the Museum. His father was pointing to the heart-shaped keyhole located on the back of the Automaton, no doubt the mechanism used in winding the contraption._

'_Another complication,' he said softly as he admired it from an arm's length, but quickly a smile came over him and in an excited whisper he added, 'another mystery.'_

_They both smiled happily to one another._

'_It makes you happy,' Hugo said matter-of-factly, his father agreed._

'_Hmm,' he ran his fingers over it again and again, 'a keyhole in the shape of a heart...'_

_He opened his notebook to a page where he had been drawing a similar shaped heart._

'_Unfortunately, we don't have the key,' he said, indicating the drawings he'd made._

_They both stood back, surveying it, pondering its brilliance._

'_Can we make one?' Hugo asked hopefully._

_His father looked down upon him sternly, his face full of shadow and doubt._

'_Oh I don't know, Hugo,' he said seriously, 'the craftsmanship is incredibly difficult, and the design has to be perfect or it might not fit. It could take months.'_

_Yet, after deliberating for several seconds the coldness seemed to melt away into a smile, lighting the space around him and indeed even making Hugo smile._

'_Of course we can make one,' he said in an amused voice, 'we're clock makers.'_

* * *

><p>Hugo literally became cemented to the spot. Never before had he been so scared in his life as he stood, sweating, pale in the face and torn between whether to run or give himself up. His mind raced over the multiple scenarios, each more devastating than the last, and each consequently ending with him being in an unbearable Orphanage for the rest of his life. He closed his eyes, swallowed hard and waited for the inevitable firm hand to grasp his shoulder and take him away.<p>

But it never did.

Instead a voice, softer and far less frightening than he'd imagined. No, this voice did not belong to the station Inspector, it was far too sophisticated and well mannered for it to be any station Inspector let alone the one Hugo had encountered.

'Those things don't belong to you, you know?'

Hugo recognised the voice from somewhere, and when he spun around to face them he suddenly felt whatever colour that had remained in his face wash away. It was if his thoughts of the past twenty four hours had caught up to him, for there stood a very pretty girl, looking particularly judgemental at him with her lips pursed and eyebrows rose.

It was Isabelle.

Hugo hesitated. This was the first time in quite a long time that he had had an interaction with another person, he was not sure if he could conjure up any words to say.

'You're that thief Papa George told keeps talking about,' she said importantly.

When Hugo didn't answer, she seemed rather annoyed.

'Well?' she hissed, 'aren't you?'

'I don't know what you're talking about,' Hugo lied.

Hugo was lost in the sensation of being in her presence; he could smell her fancy French perfume, and it made his nose itchy but he dared not sneeze nor scratch it. Isabelle was looking at him rather quizzically, as if attempting to hear what he was thinking; she gave him a once look-over, her eyes lingered most particularly on the more dirtier parts of his clothing and when she reobtained eye contact she furrowed her brow.

'Hand over what you've stolen now,' she insisted, putting out her hand, 'or I'll... I'll-'

'What?' Hugo queried her, 'call the Inspector?'

Isabelle rose to her full height and stared at him.

'I might,' she said, nodding, 'yes.'

'You won't,' Hugo told her.

'I beg your pardon?'

'If you were going to,' Hugo explained, 'you would have by now.'

Isabelle seems quite offended that he was telling her what she was going to do. However, after a few minutes of not having denied his words, she shifted forward the conversation.

'They don't belong to you,' she spat, clearly frustrated now, 'what interest does a little boy like you have in a bunch of gears and bolts anyway?'

Hugo wrung his hands together.

'I- I don't want to say,' he said nervously.

'Why not?' Isabelle asked curiously – and then, as if some sort of switch flicked inside her head she smiled widely, she took a step closer, 'is it a secret?'

Hugo hesitated.

'I love secrets,' Isabelle said rather loudly, 'you must tell me.'

'I can't.'

'But you must.'

Hugo's heart was racing. This was his chance. He could not possibly foresee another opportunity like this to ask Isabelle about the heart shaped key that she had drawn and that he needed. Therefore he could hardly believe that he was trying his best to not mention it at all.

'It's complicated,' Hugo said with a shrug.

'Are you suggesting I wouldn't understand?' Isabelle asked with venom in her tone.

After Hugo did not answer for several moments, Isabelle clearly got impatient.

'Fine, if you won't tell me, then perhaps you ought to leave,' she sounded disheartened.

Hugo was for sure.

He began backtracking blindly through the traffic of people, until eventually Isabelle disappeared completely from view. From there to when he ended up back in his quarters was a blur for Hugo; he stood at the door, crying, the feelings of being ever so close yet now surely ever so far from his answers was unbearable. He couldn't believe he had become as close as to finding the truth, he hated himself so much for it now, and his hand was bleeding from where he had angrily punched the wall. He wondered what his father might have said, if he saw him like this – would he be disappointed?

Hugo was disappointed in himself that much was for certain.

He pulled from within his pocket his notebook and slid down the cold surface of the door. This was his sanctuary for the next past few hours, as he attempted to regather himself from what had just happened. It seemed like it lasted only minutes though, flipping through the many pages of the notebook, for eventually he got to the page with the heart-shaped key on it and felt his stomach drop again and thoughts come flooding back.

* * *

><p><em>'Father?'<em>

'_Hmm?'_

_Hugo's father looked up from his work, the large Grandfather clock he had to fix by next morning was taking longer than expected, and in agreement he would go straight to bed the minute it was fixed, Hugo had been allowed to stay up and watch his father work so he might learn._

'_Where do you think that key is now?' Hugo asked sleepily, 'for the aut- autom-'_

'_Automaton,' his father finished with a smile, 'I don't know. One can imagine thousands of possibilities though,' he continued, returning his focus to the Grandfather clock, 'most likely the key is still owned by the maker or original owner, perhaps without even knowing or perhaps they can't remember what it was for.'_

_Hugo seemed amazed._

'_But how could you not?' He asked._

'_It's hard to believe I know,' his father agreed, 'so perhaps the key is lost. Can you imagine it on the bottom of the deepest blue ocean? Or buried under an important building or landmark in London? It is very old, remember, perhaps someone thought it as junk.'_

'_Maybe it broke!' Hugo suggested, sounding excited._

'_It might have,' his father nodded, 'but I hope it didn't.'_

_Hugo fell quiet as his father worked. His imagination did take over him, for he came up with hundreds of thousands of alternative resting places for the heart shaped key, each more unlikely than the next._

* * *

><p>But he never imagined, not in a million years, that it would turn up in the very city he lived in or indeed at the very train station that only led him here on the back of a tragic incident involving his father. He never pictured it linking to a young girl by the name of Isabelle, who was probably oblivious to what she had and was up late like Hugo rolling it around in her hands, just as Hugo was his notebook.<p>

He wondered aimlessly though, if he had asked Isabelle about the key, would she have divulged the information? Did she have any information to divulge? Perhaps she didn't own the key at all. He felt somewhat better about this idea, that she knew nothing, that it was pure coincidence she drew that picture (much like he had first suggested). But, was that better than if she did have what he was looking for? He wasn't sure if that made him completely happy.

As he retired for bed, with his eyes swelled and red, he still remained at a loss, he had no answers to the questions that his father had left him and he was probably further away from knowing just what he was suppose to do than he had to begin with.


End file.
